Humans, by nature, often take certain things for granted until we experience them ourselves. It is only then that we begin to find the words, the emotions, and sometimes even the courage to express what we are truly going through. Yet, perhaps we should not always wait for personal experience before learning.
There is wisdom in listening to the journeys of others, reflecting on their realities, and allowing those lessons to shape our own paths while understanding that every story carries its own context and complexities.
I’ve never really grasped the burden of motherhood. Every day, I saw mothers. I was impressed by them. I rejoiced over them. But until I became one myself, I did not fully comprehend them. I sometimes wonder why I didn’t ask more questions sooner and why I didn’t emotionally prepare myself for the demands of motherhood. Eii, being a mother is a very difficult task.
Today, as we celebrate Mother’s Day, my thoughts are filled with deep gratitude for my own mother and everything she did for my five siblings and me. Sometimes I sit quietly and wonder: how did she do it? How did she raise six children, manage a home, survive difficult days, and still find the strength to keep going?
Having only two kids, I can state with confidence that being a single mother can be overwhelming, particularly when you still have obligations to your family, your job, your responsibilities, and yourself.
And no, this is not meant to minimize the importance of fathers in raising their kids. Fathers are very important. Fathers in many households have a lot of responsibilities and make sacrifices that are worthy of respect and acknowledgment. They also have tales of silent perseverance, love, and devotion.
But today is Mother’s Day, and I am intentionally choosing to reflect on the feminine side of this journey—the emotional labour, quiet sacrifices, invisible burdens, and unique beauty that many mothers carry daily in raising children.
Anyway back to the issue, the “wahala” my first born gives me sometimes makes me feel like I am raising 20 children and honestly I am not exaggerating. One minute she’s calm, the next minute she’s testing every ounce of patience I thought I had.
My second child is quiet, but I can see she is already learning in silence the ways of her elder sister. And sometimes I ask… how does the cycle begin like this?
At times like this I think a lot about my mother I wonder how she survived those first few years. The sleepless nights, the feeding, the illnesses, the constant demands, the emotional drain, the sacrifices no mother ever mentions.
Motherhood has taught me that it is more than a role. It is a full-time emotional, physical, and mental commitment. It is waking up tired and still showing up. It is sacrificing comfort without announcement. It is carrying worry in silence while still making sure everyone else feels safe and loved.
Most importantly, motherhood is teaching me patience in ways I never imagined possible. It is teaching me that love is not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes love is hidden in repetition—in cooking, cleaning, comforting, correcting, carrying, and constantly giving pieces of yourself to others every single day.
Sometimes, in the midst of all of this, I get lost. I forget who I was before the crying, the feeding schedules, the constant alertness and the never-ending to-do list. But at the same time I’m discovering another version of myself. A stronger, softer, more patient woman. A woman who can be tired, and still love hard. A woman that gets overwhelmed but still shows up.
Still, I find myself wondering, how did our mothers do it?
The more I experience motherhood, the more I realize that our mothers had a kind of strength that many of us are just beginning to understand.
Today, I do not claim to have all the answers. But I do have gratitude. Gratitude for my mother. Gratitude for this journey. Gratitude for the lessons motherhood continues to teach me every single day.
Motherhood is not easy. It is not perfect. It is not predictable. But it is real, powerful, stretching, and transformative. And this… this is only my first chapter.